


Crossing Over

by RareAvian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Sorting (Harry Potter), Fantasy, Female Harry Potter, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Inter-House Unity, Out of Character, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4969819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RareAvian/pseuds/RareAvian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven - the most mysterious of magical numbers. Seven were thrown back in time by the Seven Higher Entities. These seven come from four different futures: Two from a world where the One-Who-Lived is a girl and a Slytherin, two from a world where all is as it should be, one from a world where Harry Potter dies and the Dark Lord reigns supreme, and one from a world about to end after a too-long battle between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. The last has yet to be revealed. </p><p>Now together in an alternate past, keeping their time-travelling secret from each other, these seven are going to change the future with their chance of a second life. </p><p>Tell me, "Do you ever wish you had a second chance to meet someone again for the first time?"</p><p>-ON HIATUS-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Divergence

Death watched as his favourite little soul looked around warily, her best friend by her side. Hazel Potter, he observed, had grown a lot since the first time he laid eyes on her. He still remembered the day he met her by the road, when he had come to collect the soul of the man who died in a car accident. She had been young and naive then, at the precious age of seven. 

"Have you come to bring him home?" she had asked him innocently and he had been lost for words. They talked afterwards, about Living and Dying, about Limbo, about Heaven and about Hell. Three years later, she met Fate, who took an instant liking to her. Death was not very pleased with it, as Hazel began learning from Fate far more than was comfortable. 

When she finally went to Hogwarts, she was sorted into Slytherin, surprising everyone, much to Fate’s delight. 

Over the years, Hazel was introduced to Luck and Chaos, Nature and Time. She forged herself a path of her own, defying odds and dealt with the Dark her own way. The Troublesome Three (Fate, Luck and Chaos) enjoyed meddling with her life, and Hazel always took their help and challenges in stride. 

Now it seemed, it was time for Hazel to meet Change face-to-face. 

... 

Hazel took in the white space they had ended up in. The place was empty and completely devoid of colour. 

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, eyes surveying her surroundings critically. Hazel could practically hear the gears and wheels turning in her mind, as she tried to make sense of their situation. If Hazel took a glimpse at her friends mind, she was sure she’d see books retrieved and discarded, pages constantly flipping and words flashing. 

"Limbo, I think," Hazel said. Death had told her about such a place before. The Land Between Worlds. 

"And you are quite right," a voice said. Hermione whirled around, wand raised. Hazel, who had recognised the voice, calmly turned around, hands relaxed. 

Death stood before them, dressed in violet, gold and turquoise robes. Hazel froze, then groaned. 

"Who picked your clothes?" 

"Luck. I think it was Chaos’s idea though. They wanted to see how well I could dress like your esteemed late Headmaster," Death replied, his usually emotionless voice was tinged with annoyance. Hazel snorted, then turned to the gaping Hermione. 

"Mione, meet Death. Death, meet Hermione Granger," Hazel said as she gestured between them. 

"Oh. Well. Pleased to meet you, sir," Hermione said awkwardly. Hazel chuckled. Hardly anyone she knew would be pleased to meet Death. 

"So, is this The End?" Hazel asked her unofficial guardian. She was somewhat excited at the thought of going Home, yet her heart was not entirely content. She wouldn’t say she had any regrets in life, for she had learnt from her unofficial guardians to live life well. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed, perhaps even sad, about leaving the Living World. There was so much she wanted to do, to experience, to experiment, and so little time in a narrow-minded world. It was, after all, only a few moments ago, when Aurors chased them through the Ministry of Magic Headquarters, minutes after she finally defeated Lord Voldemort. 

It had only been moments ago when she was accused of being a Dark Witch and a murderer, moments ago when they had left her no choice but to jump through the Veil, Hermione following close behind. These were the same people who hailed her the Girl-Who-Lived, their Saviour and Chosen One, for the accomplishment of her mother, the same people who threw her godfather into Azkaban without a trial, the same people who then condemned her the moment the Hat had called out "Slytherin!" 

But Hazel had never been truly Dark. For all her bitterness and anger at the incompetence and ignorance of the Wizarding Ministry, Dumbledore, and the placement of her residence with her magic-hating Muggle relatives, she knew better than to overgeneralize. 

She cared naught for blood purity, for needless slaughter or foolish fighting. It was true that she was not entirely against the Dark Arts, and would not hesitate to do things her way, using whatever resources was available to get what she wanted, but she still had her own set of morals and values.  
Now if only more people could see things her way, or at least attempt to understand her actions and choices. Still, despite the Light not being very pleased with the way she did things, and the Dark annoyed with the way she meddled in their business, there was still so much that could be done, so much in life to enjoy especially now that she had gotten her biggest problem (Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Would-Have-Been-Decent-Without-Horcruxes-And-Hyporytical-Blood-Purity-Ideals) out of her way. 

"No, it does not End here," Death said, to her surprise. He might have smiled, but his face was hidden, as always, so Hazel could not see what expression he had behind that raven-skull mask of his. 

"Of course not, Hazel dearest," Fate sang as she swept in from nowhere, dressed in her usual red, black and amber gypsy outfit, her long and wavy dark golden hair trailing behind her. "Why, I still have so much in store for you!" 

Hazel grinned at her wryly. "That’s good to hear." 

"Hazel..." 

"Ah! Right. Hermione, meet Fate. Fate, meet Hermione," said Hazel, though it wasn’t as if Fate and the others hadn’t met or known Hermione before.

"Fate?" Hermione repeated sceptically. She wasn’t doubting the validity of the statement as much as considering the power the woman before her held over their lives. 

Hazel watched, amusedly, as Hermione began frowning at Death and Fate, no doubt suddenly being reminded of a certain annoying Divination Professor whose pastime was predicting the deaths of everyone she met - and anyone who met her would have to have more than nine lives to survive everything she predicts of them. But Fate told Hazel back when she was only thirteen, that Sybil Trelawney had truly been blessed with the Sight, though her gift was more often dormant than not. Fate had gone on to say that she had even given Trelawney a prophesy about Hazel before. Predictably, the prophesy involved the deaths of either Voldemort or herself. 

"Yes, child. Though I interfere with the lives of mortals far less than you might think..." Fate said, then upon sensing Death’s glare, hastily added, "Dear Hazel’s life being an exception of course." 

"You said you still have a lot in store for me but... we’re in Limbo now," Hazel pointed out. 

"Ah yes, but not for long. Change, please step forward." 

Hazel and Hermione stared as a newcomer emerged from nothingness at Fate’s command. 

Change was someone Hazel had heard of before, from either Chaos or Fate, but she had never seen him before. Now he stood, facing them, wearing a jester’s hat, painted face and a colourful chequered tunic and pants, all decorated with bells. 

"Hello," he greeted them merrily, running a hand through short wavy blonde hair, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Hermione and Hazel exchanged wary glances. If he was anything like Fate or Chaos or the Weasley Twins... 

"Hello," the both of them replied hesitantly. Change merely laughed. 

"No need to be so scared. I’m merely here to help you along. Y’know, to make sure you don’t get lost." 

"Help us al—Where are we going?" Hermione spluttered. 

"Why, to an Alternate Universe, of course!" Change and Fate chorused in reply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. 

Hazel facepalmed.

... 

Draco Malfoy fumbled with the golden instrument in his trembling hands. He knew he did not have much time. Time. Time was what he needed. And the reason why he had a time-turner looped around his neck, with the crystal timepiece held between fingers. 

Three turns was all he needed for the special hourglass he had obtained from the Department of Mysteries, with the help of a loyal house-elf. He knew he would not forget the house elf’s role in this important mission. He knew he’d never look at the world the same way again. Not after those thirteen years under the Dark Lord’s rule. 

There were so many things he knew he had to change, the major one being the result of the Battle at Hogwarts. Harry Potter had died then, and with his fall, the last hope of the Light perished. And though he scorned them when he was younger, he knew better now. He should have realised it earlier, since the Dark Lord’s return at the end of their fourth year, but even then, he had been stubborn, and proud (not knowing how much pride would fall before a Dark Lord), and his family too late in turning away. 

His family. Father crucio-ed beyond insanity for disloyalty, Mother killed for treachery. He was next, and as he curled up in the corner of his cell, he knew the guards would arrive any minute now, to bring him to his fate. 

There was no time. 

Draco spun the hourglass once. 

To undo the past. 

He spun the hourglass another time.

Change the world.

He spun the hourglass one last time. 

Guards were thrown backwards on their way down into the dungeons of Azkaban, a bright silvery light filling everything. There was no sound. No colour. No feeling. 

And Draco slumped to the floor and vanished. 

... 

This was not what he wanted, when he first set himself on a path towards world domination. He didn’t expect things to turn out this way. He supposed he could blame it all on Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Mess-Up-His-Plans. But Tom Riddle knew better. 

It was his fault. He could not deny it anymore, now that he was somewhat saner than before. It had been the result of paranoia, of abusing his soul, of abandoning sanity and foolishly chasing after half a prophesy - and a self-fulfilling prophesy at that. So he really had only himself to blame. Besides, the Potter brat was in no way responsible for the splitting of his soul or getting him stuck in Limbo. 

Lord Voldemort knew not who was the one who killed him. He had been exhausted from fighting Potter day and night, until their powers waned and Dementors arrived like vultures. He had intended to deal the finishing blow, to shoot the killing curse at the boy, the curse that matched the boy’s brilliant green eyes so well, and the Dark Lord had grown to respect the brat for all his will and defiant fire, such that he felt the killing curse would be an honourable way to finish him - no more unnecessary bloodshed or violence, no messy gore or carnage... But the Dementors had swooped in, feeding on the boy’s despair, heedless to the Dark Lord’s commands, and took away the boy’s soul, leaving behind an empty body and hollow eyes like frozen stagnant pools of green water. 

Then he had been struck from behind. And there was a brief explosion of pain, before he found himself surrounded by darkness. When he woke up, he was already in Limbo, where Death told him he could not move on, for the Train only took recognisable souls, and he was hardly a soul anymore. Not that he particularly minded being killed then. It had happened so fast, his fear of death had no chance to manifest. And it wasn’t like there was much of a world left to rule. During the nine years he battled Potter after the Battle at Hogwarts, the Wizarding world had slowly fallen to ruin. The war had escalated, other countries pitching in, until the lands were just short of looking like a post-apocalyptic world. 

It might have been months, or years, or decades even, before two women and two men visited him at the Train Station, introduced themselves as Fate, Luck, Chaos and Change. They offered him a chance to redeem himself and have a second shot at life. Tom Riddle did not hesitate to take them on their offer. 

Perhaps this time around, his original plan could work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter. How was it? I already have the second chapter ready but I'd like to see how this one goes before posting up the next chapter next week. Bookmark, leave a comment or a kudos if you like it. If you spot any factual, grammar or spelling errors please let me know too (they just might be on purpose but then again they might not)~ Cheers!
> 
> (Disclaimer: The Potterverse belongs to J.K Rowling, I'm just borrowing it and messing around with it.)


	2. Alternate Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the new lives of some of the time-travelers are explored...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the original story. I only own this idea and any difference or deviation from the original plot. Credits go to all those time-travelling and alternate universe stories out that have inspired me to write my own version.
> 
> Oh and every break with '...' means a change of perspective unless I state otherwise.

Ronald Weasley was an average Wizarding child born in an average Wizarding family. A few months before the much-awaited Hogwarts letter, the second youngest Weasley had a vivid dream. The nightmare-like dream was a long one, and by the time he awoke, he was quite convinced that he was twenty-three years old and working as an Auror. 

That was, at least, what he would say if asked about the screaming he’d done that night. The truth was, Ron, though albeit not the brightest in the Golden Trio (definitely not with Hermione around), was not unintelligent, contrary to popular belief. He knew he couldn’t very well say that he was actually from twelve years in the future and had been transported back in time due to a magical explosion caused by a terrorist attack on the Ministry of Magic by rebels. Ron Weasley liked his sanity and his current life, financial situation aside, and would rather avoid a trip to St Mungo’s if he could help it. 

So life went on as normal for the Weasley family, other than the slightly strange behaviour of their youngest son who had grown a lot more tolerant about his twin brothers’ pranks and had taken to pranking them back, as well as being on a lot better terms with his Prefect brother. The Weasleys didn’t mind - while the chaos in the house was greatly unappreciated, it was still nice to know that Ron had matured (somewhat) and their family was getting along better than before. 

Other strange occurrences were also appearing in various parts of the Wizarding world. Ron was only aware of one such occurrence when he received a letter from one Neville Longbottom, asking after his health as well as the existence of an ancient pet rat. 

Ron was glad then, that the future Herbology Professor had been at the Ministry that day, to help control the ridiculous overgrowth of venomous tentacula (courtesy of aforementioned rebel group), and had been sent back through time as well. He was certainly sad that Hermione and Harry hadn’t been there at the Ministry with them (Harry was on an Auror mission locating the remaining Death Eaters that have escaped the Ministry’s grasps and Hermione had gone to Bulgaria to visit the Ministry there) and hence had no chance of joining them, but one couldn’t have everything, he supposed. 

Meanwhile, a little girl was startled out of her sleep as her annoying cousin jumped up and down the stairs at Number Four, Privet Drive. 

... 

Hazel Potter was most exasperated with her current situation. While she did realize that she would be sent through time and space to another world similar to her own, she definitely did not expect to find herself in her ten-year-old body, trapped with her annoying Muggle relatives, and forced to live another seven years with them, again. 

Hence, as Hazel began cooking breakfast for the Dursleys, she also began plotting. She had a godfather after all. She had lost him in her own world, but he should still be alive here. She expected him to be in Azkaban, for she wouldn’t be here otherwise, which meant that she would need to get him out as soon as possible. But first, she would wait. Like a snake in the grass, she would be patient and wait. 

A few months before the arrival of the Hogwarts Letter, Hazel finally got the opportunity to send a letter to Hermione via Muggle post. She was quite sure that Hermione had arrived in this world with her, but there was still a chance of _certain_ people Changing their minds. 

So one fine Saturday afternoon, when the Dursleys had gone out to somewhere unimportant, Hazel had slipped away from Mrs Figg with wandless Notice-Me-Not and Disillusionment charms. She made it to the nearest post office and back without any fuss, unafraid of using under-aged magic before going Hogwarts. From what she had observed before, the Ministry dismisses such cases as minor accidental magic. Unless she were to kill someone. Then there would probably be Aurors arriving and Obliviating Muggles left and right. But otherwise, she was perfectly safe. 

Hermione’s reply came a week later. In response to Hazel’s simple ambiguous letter (which merely asked the former Ravenclaw what was the plan and addressing her by her nickname, Roseclaw - a result of her feline Animagus form), Hermione had replied: 

_Dear Nightshade,_

_We should lay low for now, though I don’t think I need to tell you that._

_Your Friend,_

_Briar_

(Briar was Hermione’s alternative nickname to Roseclaw, and appropriate use of the alternative nickname served to ensure the identity of the sender.) 

Hazel was relieved that Hermione had made it back with her. And days passed lazily, with Hazel using magic to help with the chores whenever she could get away with it. At night, she would sleep in her Animagus form with the cupboard door locked, as it was more comfortable that way. Following Hermione’s advice, she figured she should wait until her Hogwarts letter to get a proper bedroom. It had been pretty amusing the first time round anyway, and she had little doubt the same thing would happen again, even if it was an alternate universe. 

Little more than a week before summer break, an interesting incident happened. 

Hazel was out gardening in the late Saturday afternoon, having been given the task of pulling weeds and watering the flowers. (It was actually one of the chores she preferred doing as the Dursley’s ’house-elf’ and she’d use a little magic to help tend the garden when no one was looking.) Occasionally, she would meet a small animal such as a frog or a lizard. So she wasn’t too surprised when she saw a snake in the bushes that day.

It was a beautiful snake, with obsidian black scales and a long slender body. Hazel’s first clue that it wasn’t an ordinary garden snake was its size. It was as big as a python. The second clue was the serpent’s mismatched eyes. Heterochromia, she recalled, having found the condition fascinating, especially when it occurs in magical beings. 

 **(Hello.)** Hazel whispered to the snake, who seemed to be looking at the rosebay willowherb (also known as fireweed) very critically. The snake jerked its head, almost as if it had been surprised. But of course. Snakes don’t encounter Speakers often after all. 

The snake stared at her for awhile, with a rather intensely unnerving gaze. Or it would have been unnerving if Hazel had been anyone normal, especially when the serpent had one eye ice blue, the other blood red. So long as the snake wasn’t actually a baby basilisk with eye-colour problems, Hazel wouldn’t give a damn. 

Then the snake blinked slowly and looked about. That was the third sign that the snake wasn’t ordinary—normal snakes do not have eyelids to blink with. 

Hazel sighed. **(Yes, a human is speaking to a snake. I’m said human and you’re said snake.)**

The snake glared at her and seemed to scowl as best as a snake could. **(I’m not an idiot.)**

Hazel raised an eyebrow. **(Forgive me, o’ Wise Serpent. I should not have doubted your mental capacities for—)**

**(Oh shut up. Who are you anyway? I was not aware that Slytherin had any heirs.)**

That was the fourth thing—There was no ’Oh! A Speaker!’ or grumblings about annoying humans. Instead, the snake had revealed that it knew of Salazar Slytherin. That wasn’t very surprising. He was a very famous Speaker. The surprising thing was the lack of respectful titles attached to the name. No ‘Master’, no ‘Lord’. Not even a ‘Mister’. 

 **(You’re awfully rude,)** Hazel commented. **(And what about Lord Voldemort?)**

The snake blinked again. It looked somewhat bemused. **(I have had a very terrible day involving screaming old women waving brooms and men with long sticks and bags. I have no patience for politeness at this point. And what about this Lord Voldemort?)**

Hazel snickered at the thought of the snake fleeing from the wrath of frightened batty old ladies and pest control people. If the snake had been an ordinary snake, she would have given it her condolences and sympathised with it. But this snake was snarky, most likely magical and seemed to be grumpy yet arrogant. It made a lot of difference. 

But the snake didn’t seem to know who Lord Voldemort was. Surely he existed in this alternate universe she was in? Otherwise she wouldn’t be at the Dursleys’ now would she? Unless her parents died from other causes... Or the snake was just being disagreeable. 

**(You know, the Dark Lord after Grindelwald? Red eyes, pale skin? Either dark-haired or bald? Also known as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Surely...)**

Hazel trailed off. Or maybe, the Dark Lord wasn’t a Parselmouth in this world? But how did that explain her Parseltongue abilities then? Could her parents be different from before? Perhaps her father was actually some grandson of Merope Gaunt and a Potter or something equally weird? She wouldn’t put it past Fate to mess with her like that. 

 **(I know who Lord Voldemort is!)** the serpent snapped. **(What I want to know is who you are and how you know about him and yet, still able to say that name without fear.)**

Hazel laughed. **(Okay. Okay. Chill. I’m Hazel. And why should I fear the name? It makes no sense. And what about you? What’s your name?)**

The snake froze and it seemed to think very hard while eyeing her. Then it spoke again, choosing its words carefully. **(Let me guess, you think it’s just a name and therefore shouldn’t be feared? That fear of the name would give Voldemort more power? What’s your last name?)**

 **(I’m not giving my last name until you tell me what’s your name,)** Hazel replied with a snort, and it wasn’t as if she could give a totally false name either. It wasn’t possible to lie in Parseltongue, and though she was Hazel Potter, Master of Death and Impossible Feats, she wasn’t exempted from that rule. **(And yes, you’re correct about why I do not fear the name, but it’s not the main reason. I mean, Voldemort can’t possibly be his real name. Who names their kid that? So it’s even more absurd to fear a fake name.)**

**(... Are you a Hogwarts student? You look too young but then appearances can be deceiving.)**

**(Nope. Not yet at least. Why?)**

**(I couldn’t decide if you’re a Slytherin or Gryffindor.)**

Hazel made a face. Gryffindor? Surely not? She might be brave—courage was a good thing to have, combined with cunning and ambition—but she wasn’t... Well, not all Gryffindors were reckless idiots, she supposed. Neville was a good example. She’d always liked that boy’s brand of bravery, quiet and strong. But there was something about Gryffindor that seven years of being in Slytherin made her cringe from.

Perhaps it was their ideals, or the idea of being Light, and not just Light but Dumbledore’s pet, and perhaps their uncouthness and... Hazel stopped herself. The rational part of her (that sounded like Hermione) told her that she was being silly and that her opinions of Gryffindor was shaped too much by her peers and her dislike for the manipulative Headmaster, and that her parents and her godfather were Gryffindors and she held no dislike for them... 

 **(Maybe I’ll become a Ravenclaw?)** Hazel suggested, though she knew while she was intelligent, she wasn’t quite suited for the House. She was neither book-smart like Hermione, nor weird-smart like Luna. She didn’t even thirst for knowledge or value wit above all else like a Ravenclaw was supposed to. But it was a good House. It was a neutral House, and definitely less suspicious than Slytherin—Hazel realised, one week into her first year and Hogwarts, that it would have been a Slytherin thing to do to get Sorted into a non-Slytherin House, and she was an idiot not to have thought about that while being Sorted. 

 **(You’re eleven or turning eleven, and you’re either a pureblood or a half-blood,)** the snake observed, and it was right, of course. 

 **(Yes,)** Hazel smirked, knowing that her knowledge of the magical world was not because she was brought up in a magical family, unlike what the snake probably thought. 

 **(Dark red hair, bright emerald green eyes, fair... I can’t place your parentage or family,)** the snake grumbled. Hazel discovered on her first day in this alternate universe, that either Change had altered her hair colour, or the Hazel Potter of this universe had that hair colour. Her raven black hair was now a dark colour, almost black, but it shone a dark crimson, like wine or blood, under the sunlight. (Interestingly, her Animagus form also had a coat-colour-change. While her fur used to be completely ink black, her coat was now black and dark red. Which meant that she might need to change her Animagus nickname from Nightshade to something more suitable.)

The snake narrowed its eyes, almost as if it thought of something... **(You can call me Marvolo.)**

Hazel would have choked or laugh, or both, if she hadn’t had experience in using Slytherin masks to hide her feelings from her facial expressions, and Occlumency to clear her thoughts from her surprised mind. Marvolo? Seriously? Was this a Gaunt familiar or something? Maybe Nagini possessed by the Horcrux soul? But Nagini looked nothing like this. An Alternate-Universe-Horcrux, perhaps? Or a snake possessed by an existing Horcrux the way Ginevra Weasley had been possessed by Riddle?

 **(Marvolo has three syllables. Can I just call you Tom? Tom is an good name. Short and sweet.)** Hazel deadpanned. The snake looked incredulous and very much offended. 

 **(No, you may not!)** It spat. **(And you’re supposed to tell me your last name.)**

Hazel thought he sounded far too defensive. But surely the Dark Lord, Horcrux or not, should have more control over the emotions he displayed...? Or right. She had a connection with the Dark Lord, which meant that if this was indeed a Horcrux, she might be able to sense his feelings better than most. Hazel grinned.

**(Riddle me, riddle me this: In my field, earth is brought to life, yet in my field, death is brought to earth.)**

The serpent stared at her, first with an unimpressed look, next with a glare of annoyance, then he huffed, and stared into space as he considered the riddle Hazel had made up on the spot. There was a minute of silence, broken only by Hazel's snipping of the leaves of a hydrangea bush... Before... 

**(Potter?!)**

**(Is it that surprising?)** Hazel asked dryly. Mars—short for Marvolo because it really was too long a name and the Horcrux or whatever he was would probably mind it less than 'Tom' for it was the name of the Roman god of War anyway—did not reply immediately, and chose, instead, to properly survey his surrounding as he considered his answer carefully. 

 **(I was made to believe that the last remaining Potter was a boy,)** the snake finally replied. **(Do you have a twin brother?)**

Hazel blinked owlishly, and shook her head. A boy? **(No. Not that I know of.)**

Mars frowned, a disconcerting sight on a snake. **(Show me your forehead.)**

Hazel brushed away her wine-coloured bangs, revealing a pale red lightning-bolt symbol etched into her fair skin.

 **(So you _are_ the One-Who-Lived,)** the serpent murmured. Hazel noted his choice of the genderless word.

 **(Have they been calling me the Boy-Who-Lived?)** she asked, wondering if she was supposed to be a boy in this alternate universe, while thanking Fate that if that was so, at least they didn’t stuff her soul into the body of a guy. But then, her relatives had shown no surprise at seeing her when she first met them, so they couldn’t have known her as a boy.

Mars looked bemused. **(No… I do not know. It’s just an impression I—)**

“HEYYY!!! Mum! Dad! The Freak’s talking to a snake!!”

Hazel winced at her carelessness. How could she have not noticed her cousin’s presence? He walked like a baby elephant, for Salazar’s sake! She could already hear her uncle’s heavier footsteps approaching the front door.

 **(Hide quickly,)** Hazel hissed to the serpent and straightened, gardening shears still in hand, as Uncle Vernon came growling into the garden.

“You! What do you think you’re doing?! What have I said about this—this unnaturalness?! And you—you just did this in public! In front of all our neighbours! What—Where did you get that snake?! Did you summon it? I told Tuney! I told her back when that old dodger with the funny dress left you at our front door! I knew we should never have taken a devil’s spawn like you in! You ungrateful wretch! We clothed you and fed you and—”

“Uncle, what snake are you talking about?” Hazel asked calmly, having Disillusioned the serpent moments ago, after realising that Mars had not bothered hiding like she told him to. Now if he were a normal garden snake, he would probably have been fine. But no, he was looked like some viper-python hybrid and the black scales and eerie eye colour did not help.

“I—It was right there! Dudley said you were talking to it! Where is it?! Where have you sent it! I know you’re responsible for this!! I just know it!! If I find it in the house—!” Uncle Vernon spluttered and continued ranting.

Hazel sighed internally. This would take a while.

Five minutes later, her uncle had turned purple, and had finally finished his speech. Hazel wished she could have Silenced him earlier, but it wouldn’t do to show how much control she had over her magical powers, not just yet. Because even though the Dursleys pretty much blamed her for any misfortune or any unnaturalness, she knew that the moment she revealed any obvious non-accidental magical manipulation, she ran the risk of her Aunt trying to contact the meddling Dumbledore.

Hazel already had to Obliviate her Aunt once before, when she was caught multitasking—doing the dishes, cooking and cleaning the floor—with magic. She had been careless, and her Obliviation skills really weren’t the best, so she would rather if she didn’t have to do it again, lest her relatives end up in some mental hospital or something. (Of course, she could try Imperiusing her relatives, but she wasn’t sure if the wards around the house would alert Dumbledore to an Unforgivable being used within its premises.)

“Are you listening, girl?!”

Hazel nodded genially, but her response was evidently not to her Uncle’s satisfaction (though she doubted anything she did would satisfy him) and he burst into the usual, “Back to your Cupboard, Girl! And stay there!”

She heard the invisible words: _You’ll be locked in there until your Aunt gets tired of doing the chores and no food until then_. Not that she particularly minded. This was a common occurrence in the Dursleys’ household, and though she was usually only let out to relieve herself, she would always sneak out at night with a simple _Alohomora_ to feed and water herself.

“Yes Uncle Vernon,” Hazel replied, just as genially and walked around her uncle to the return to the house when she felt something large, long and heavy slither up her leg. She faltered for a fraction of a second, before she continued walking as if there was nothing wrong, as if there wasn’t a huge, quite possibly venomous, and most likely Dark serpent coiling itself around her body.

Once Hazel had passed by a smirking Dudley in the hallway and had slipped back into her Cupboard, and closed the door, she heard the heavy footsteps of her Uncle, a loud click of the lock, more heavy footsteps before blissful silence. She stared at slanted cobwebbed ceiling of the Cupboard under the stairs, still hyper-aware of the dangerous snake coiled around her neck, shoulders and waist. Now what?

…

Tom Riddle did not expect this. One does not simply expect this sort of thing. But on hindsight, he shouldn’t have been too surprised, considering _who_ had sent him back in time. He should have known that he had gotten off lightly, that his second chance would have a catch. His only comfort was that he wouldn’t be permanently stuck with a snake’s body.

Of course, it would take awhile for him to regain a human body. After the initial surprise had worn off, Marvolo, as he now called himself, realised that four things had happened, based on the memories he was conveniently supplied with.

One: It had been ten years since his demise at Godric’s Hollow and he should be a wraith-like spirit, having yet to possess Quirrell’s body.

Two: However, the Higher Entities had, instead, interfered and gave his spirit a physical body, much like how he had regained his body in the future, minus the Dark ritual because they were the Higher Entities. And his new body was nowhere near humanoid.

Three: He was now a Naga at its origins. In other words, he was a magical snake with the ability to turn into a human, like a reverse Animagus. Or he would be able to, if he knew how to, and could use his magic freely. As it was, his serpent body seemed to have restrictions placed within it to bind his magic. The Higher Entities’ work, no doubt.

Four: He was in England, having been magically transported from Albania. It was now highly unlikely for him to possess Quirrell, which meant that the future had been changed before he could do a thing. He wasn’t even going to try and figure out why or how this had happened. It was quite obvious that the Higher Entities had a mission: Make Tom Riddle’s life as difficult as possible.

Later on, Marvolo got another surprise in the form of a Parselmouth girl in a Muggle neighbourhood. He had found the neighbourhood familiar, but had not recognised it as the home of his Prophesied nemesis until he was surprised, again, when the girl revealed herself to be the Chosen One. This was disturbing on many levels, as Marvolo was quite sure that the Chosen One had been a boy by the name of Harry Potter (not a girl called Hazel Potter) and he did not recall that said individual was a Parselmouth. His Harry had never spoken or shown to understand Parseltongue before, and he did not remember any of his followers ever mentioning this fact.

Marvolo rationalised to himself that the Potter brat could have gotten that ability from him via whatever magic was released that fateful night. But while he was still wrapping his head around the fact that the Potter brat was _female_ , and he might just be in a totally alternate universe instead of an altered version of his original one as he had previously assumed, Marvolo was introduced to the Potter brat’s atrocious Muggle relatives.

And it wasn’t even his prejudice against Muggles acting up, because they were truly horrible to look at and their personalities weren’t any better.

First, there was that baby whale of a cousin, a fat and evidently pampered kid that delighted the misery of others… Or at least, the misery of Hazel Potter. Now Marvolo wouldn’t have minded that at all, if the baby whale had not A) called Hazel a ‘Freak’, a term that reminded Marvolo of his childhood interactions with others, and B) expressed his distaste about Parseltongue.

(Addressing A: Marvolo did not mind insults in general, unless they were related to himself. However, there were a few terms that were particularly unpleasant, especially so when used by a Muggle to refer to one of the Wizarding folk. His Harry had been an annoyingly special, royal pain-in-the-arse, but never a Freak. Even with the whole surviving the Avada Kedavra thing, though if Dumbledore were to be believed, it was the brat’s mother who was special, not the brat himself, Prophesy aside.)

(Addressing B: Parseltongue was considered a Dark ability in the Wizarding world. Marvolo had no qualms with that misunderstanding. It did not affect him, as he was proud to be Dark. So it was unsurprising that Muggles would be even more against such an ability. What irked Marvolo was how unappreciated the ability was.)

Second, there was that walrus of an uncle, just as fat and pig-like. A few seconds into his rant at the Potter brat and Marvolo knew he was one of those Muggles that feared and hated magic, much like… pretty much every Muggle he knew from his days in that despicable Orphanage. (Marvolo was grudgingly impressed by how the Potter brat stayed calm and not in the least upset throughout the rant, because his Harry had been more hot-tempered and easily riled up than this. He was also somewhat amused by the Potter brat’s attempt to make sure he did not get spotted by the Dursleys, and quite surprised by her wandless Disillusionment Charm, which was most definitely not a case of accidental magic. Not even an hour after getting to know this new Potter and he was starting to respect her a lot earlier and a lot more than her male counterpart already.)

The worst part was when the Potter brat was sent to her Cupboard. (Once again, he was grudgingly impressed by her ability to feign ignorance when he decided to ‘follow’ her.) He had initially wondered if that was merely a strange name for her room, and was more than shocked when he discovered that the Cupboard was exactly what its name suggested.

The Cupboard under the stairs was smaller than a walk-in wardrobe belonging to a Pureblood family, smaller than his room in the Orphanage, smaller than some Crup kennels he had seen before. And they were locked in. Not that Muggle locks would stop anyone capable of basic magic, but it was the sentiment that was appalling.

 **(How long will we be staying here?)** he asked the girl as he slithered off her and onto the miserably thin mattress of her bed (which took up almost all the space in the Cupboard), who was sighing at the ceiling. She turned and glanced in the direction of his Disillusioned head (and it was a very good Disillusionment charm, possibly second only to Dumbledore’s).

 **(Until tonight. We can sneak out then, and you can go off to wherever you were previously heading to. Why are you even here with me?)** the Potter brat said, sitting down beside him and cancelling the Disillusionment charm.

Marvolo huffed, wondering if she was being purposely obtuse. **(I wasn’t heading anywhere in particular earlier, and now that I have found an object of interest, I’ll be staying for awhile. And what I meant was: For how long does your uncle plan on locking you in?)**

The girl blinked. **(I am not an object… Though I can’t say I’m not flattered by your interest as long as your interest does not involve my death. And Uncle Vernon probably expects me to stay here until they are in dire need of my household services, which in all likelihood, means… the day before Dudley’s birthday.)**

 **(And when is that?)** Marvolo asked, conveniently ignoring her suspicion about him wanting her dead. He wasn’t about to kill her anytime soon anyway, not after having found an intelligent human that he could communicate with. And probably not until she actually got in the way of his plans.

 **(Four days from now. And don’t glare. You’re the one who chose to follow me. Really, this is an ideal situation,)** Potter replied, and grinned to herself as she continued. **(Seriously, it means I get to be exempted from all the household chores, a lot of time to myself, no school, and I don’t have to interact with the Dursleys! It’s practically freedom! I’d get myself into trouble more often, but then Aunt Petunia would smell a rat, especially when she realises she’s doing the housework more often than she’d like!)**

 **(Freedom,)** Marvolo repeated flatly. **(You consider this freedom.)**

The girl waved a hand dismissively. **(You’ll see. It’s much better this way.)**

**(… What does a typical day entail for you?)**

**(Oh, hmm… On school days, I’d go to school in the morning, go home after school, help Aunt Petunia prepare dinner and wash up after, then do my homework before bed. During the weekends and school vacation, Aunt Petunia will delegate the chores to me—Gardening, Laundry, Cleaning, Cooking, Washing the car, Repainting the fence, you name it. Thank Merlin for cleaning spells.)**

**(… For how long have they been doing this?)**

**(Doing what? Getting me to do their housework? I don’t remember. When I grew tall enough to reach the stove on a stool and handle a broom I suppose.)**

**(… They expect a small kid to do their housework for them? How are you supposed to do any of your chores right when you’re that young?!)**

**(Oh you tend to learn quick once you realise the quality of your work is tied to your meals.)**

**(So you’re basically their house-elf?)** Marvolo finally concluded, somewhat incredulously. He, and every other Wizarding folk, possibly with the exception of those who were close friends with the Potter brat, were led to believe that the Saviour of the Wizarding world was brought up in a safe—and pampered, according to Severus—environment. The Chosen One, treasure of the Wizarding world, brought up as a servant of a Muggle family? Preposterous. Except that he’d seen some evidence of it with his own eyes, and he knew one can’t lie in Parseltongue.

 **(Oh, not _that_ bad,)** Potter replied, wrinkling her freckled nose. **(I don’t work all the time, and I do have some freedom here and there. The Dursleys are not very pleasant people, but they’re not really… violent.)**

Marvolo very much doubted it. Her uncle looked like he would drag her by her ear if she did not immediately comply earlier. And he was still questioning the absurdity that was Hazel Potter—her gender, her early proficiency in magic, her knowledge of the Wizarding world despite living with Muggles that refused to even say the word ‘Magic’, her personality, and not to mention her way of seeing things.

By the time Dudley’s birthday arrived, Marvolo found himself reluctantly agreeing with the girl’s uncle: Hazel Potter was not normal. In fact, she was very much like a cheerful, laid-back, and less vicious version of himself when he was her age.

She was intelligent, far more intelligent than she should be at her age, and they even had a debate about Wizarding blood more than once. Lily (which was what Marvolo now called the Potter girl, after a long argument over names, in which he found himself revealing that Marvolo was his middle name—he would swear that she was a Slytherin if that thought as absurd as a Gryffindor Malfoy—and they finally agreed that they would be on a middle-name-basis) also liked to practice manipulating magic wandlessly, and often chose to entertain herself with dancing objects, ridiculous transfigurations and levitating random items in a show of fake-meditation, including herself.

She did levitate him once too, but he threatened to bite her in her sleep and she never did it again. She did change his colour a few times too, but he didn’t realise until he saw himself in a mirror. Marvolo wasn’t sure what to make of her friendship with the three Cupboard spiders though. She even gave each of them a fancy name: Alasdair, Raghnall, and Francis. He decided it would be best not to even think about some of her more questionable behaviour.

…

There was a twitch. It felt somewhat like a throb that disappeared as quickly as it came, like a single heartbeat, in his left arm.

Draco Malfoy stared at the pale unblemished skin of his inner forearm. The Dark Mark that had stained his arm was gone, just as he had always wished, but even now, he sometimes thought he could still feel it there, like a phantom limb. It never hurt, and the sensation usually felt rather odd—a throb here, a pulse there, and sometimes, a feeling that he would usually only associate with hitting his funny bone (except that he was quite certain he did not have an ulnar nerve in the middle of his inner forearm, and he was pretty sure he had done nothing to trigger that feeling either).

However, other than his peculiar phantom Dark Mark, which did not actually disturb him too much, Draco was quite content. He was now stuck in the past, five years earlier than he intended (the Time Turner had worked too well and he wasn’t sure how it worked but instead of just being thrown further back in time than it should have done, it also seemed to have deposited him into his eleven-year-old body so there weren’t two different versions of him running around at the same time), but all was well. In fact, after analysing his predicament, he realised it was actually golden opportunity, a chance to redo practically almost _everything_. It was better than anything he could have hoped for, really.

The best part, the part that he was currently most focused on, was the fact that his parents were still alive and perfectly healthy. The mature Slytherin part of him had been shoved into a corner of his mind when he realised he had almost a full year to enjoy being spoiled by his indulgent parents. He would quash his eighteen-year-old pride and accept all the warm hugs his mother gave him at home, and listened attentively to his father’s voice even when he had heard that boring speech or lecture a thousand times before.

If his parents noticed anything different about him, if they ever wondered why their son behaved like a soldier who had been given back his childhood, they did not mention it. Not the nightmares, nor the hyper-vigilance, and definitely not that one night when their son burst into their bedroom and tackled them on their bed with a huge overly-enthusiastic hug.

The house-elf was another matter. _The_ House-Elf, because Dobby was not just any house-elf belonging to the Malfoys; he was the strangest one with questionable sanity. And he had no such qualms in confronting his young master about his behaviour. Because the house-elf was so completely certain that the Malfoy scion was not himself, he felt an obligation to ensure that the family was not being threatened by an imposter. Or so he says, and Draco wonders how much of it was actually due to the house-elf’s natural suspicion of any Malfoy.

Draco was interrogated by Dobby when he went to the kitchen to grab a snack one day, and the house-elf had leapt up and grabbed him by his collar, and demanded for answers.

The agitated little creature had evidently been taking note of every single little deviation from his normal behaviour with the skill of a Slytherin and the paranoia of Mad-Eye Moody. It probably did not helped when Draco—who was well aware that they were the only ones in the kitchen and had relaxed his guard—promptly burst into genuinely amused chuckles. When the house-elf, probably expecting to be yelled at or punished, looked so startled at his mirth, he laughed even more.

In retrospect, he should probably thank the elf, for that was the moment when it really sank—right to the marrow of his bones—in, that he was back, that he could relax, that it wasn’t a dream and he had better make the most out of it instead of worrying too much about a Voldemort that had yet to come back from the dead.  He felt it then, the tension that he did not notice before, all washing away along with the blood on his hands, blood that he hoped he would not need to spill again.

“I assure you, I am Draco Malfoy. I can even swear it, if you’d like. Or you could just ask me a question that no one else can answer,” he told Dobby, when the elf looked as if it was questioning his sanity. (And if Dobby questions one’s sanity, there must be something very _very_ wrong.)

The house-elf still looked wary, and after awhile, asked him if he has considered going to St Mungo’s for a check-up.

Draco promptly threatened to report the elf’s disrespect to his father, while ordering the elf to keep his changed behaviour a secret between them. After some thought, he informed the elf that in return for keeping his secrets, he would give the elf a small piece of old cloth for every secret kept, which the elf could then collect until there was enough for it to make something for itself out of the scrap cloth. Draco also made sure the house-elf knew that this was in no way equivalent to the giving of clothes or any form of freedom from servitude.

Dobby decided that even if Draco had somehow hit himself on the head and gone a bit mad, it was an improvement from the previous young master he knew and was quite glad to swear an Elf’s Oath upon this deal. And Draco discovered that the batty creature was a lot likeable when he was polite to it. It really was a very Slytherin business. Both parties currying favour with the other, and both benefiting from it. Draco got a loyal and ready-to-please house-elf (finally! After years of the Malfoy family trying to get it to behave like the others) and the house-elf got a whole heap of scrap cloth which was now forming a hideous patchwork quilt.

The Malfoys never mentioned the change in the elf’s behaviour either. (Because Malfoys do not demand answers. Answers present themselves to Malfoys.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how's the second chapter? Like it? Hate it? Find it boring? Or just plain ridiculous? Leave your comments if you have any, and if you like it, show your support by bookmarks or kudos~ Thanks~ 
> 
> Third chapter will be up next week or the week after depending on how busy I am but don't worry, I've already started on it. 
> 
> P.S. What do you guys think about Ron Weasley? What kind of person do you view him as? (If you just want to seriously bash him, don't bother, but if you can calmly leave criticisms of his character with reasons and explanations then by all means, please do.) And I mean the grown-up, seventeen-year-old and older Ron Weasley, either that or Ron Weasley over the years, but not just the young and immature Ron Weasley.


	3. Intersection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the third chapter~ My thanks to those who have kudo-ed/commented/bookmarked this story thus far~
> 
> For those who have yet to realise, I just wanted to see what would happen if I tried to throw characters from alternate universes together in a story that isn't a total crack!fic even though some crack!fics are awesome but I'm not sure if I can pull one off yet. So there you go.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of the original Harry Potter storyline and the Potterverse. I'm just borrowing it and messing around. Credits goes to all the fanfiction that I have read that inspired me to write this.
> 
> Warnings: Time-travel, AU, different Sortings, fem!Grey!MOD!Harry, slight OOC at times, also: weird shit may happen
> 
> Pairings: Neville/Luna, the rest are unconfirmed though there may be either HP/DM or HP/TMR-LV-whatever.
> 
> (But don't expect much romance, really. It won't be the main focus of the story.)

As she had previously predicted, Hazel was released from her Cupboard the day before Dudley's birthday. And Aunt Petunia explicitly told her upon 'freeing' her, that everything had to be perfect for that day.

Everything  _did not_  turn out perfect that day, at least, not for the Dursleys. It started with the Dursleys having to bring Hazel to the Zoo along with them because of unfortunate circumstances that Hazel had played no part in. (And of course, Marvolo tagged along with the help of a Disillusionment charm, as well as a Notice-Me-Not spell just-in-case.) Hazel remembered this very trip from her previous universe and timeline, and had no desire to change its course. But upon setting sight on the Reptile House, she realized she did not want to set a snake free.

No, she wanted to set  _all_  the snakes free.

And so she did. It was one of the most dramatic bout of 'accidental' magic she had done yet, Hazel observed with a grin.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, like the rest of the summer, since she was once again locked up in her Cupboard. Hazel and Marvolo had gotten somewhat closer in the process (for the serpent was very curious about her and they talked about almost anything under the sun), though the both of them still had a multitude of secrets they kept from each other—Marvolo was disinclined to share about where he came from, and she had no desire to put herself in a disadvantageous situation by letting him know anything about herself more than necessary). However, Hazel had taken the opportunity while locked in her Cupboard to ask Marvolo every question she could think of, aside from questions about his past, and she learnt a lot about the magical world from him.

(Now she was prepared to answer, should anyone ask her how she knew more than she should about the Wizarding world, that she had befriended a magical snake in the summer and it had provided her with all the information she could hope to have. Of course, she knew she still had to be cautious so that no one would ever ask such a question, because then she would have to reveal her Parseltongue ability, which was something she definitely didn't want known so early.)

When the Hogwarts letter arrived, Hazel made a show of looking at it when she brought in the rest of the mail. The letter was confiscated, and she had to explain to Marvolo that no, she was  _not_  an idiot and he would later learn why she had let the Dursleys confiscate such an important thing. When pressed, he confirmed that he knew its general contents and therefore, should her plan fail, they would still be able to write back to the school for another list of school supplies to be bought for that year.

Hogwarts and the Dursleys did not disappoint. (And Marvolo was quite incredulous and amused when letters were found in the eggs that Aunt Petunia bought).

By the time the letters started arriving like flood waters through a broken dam, Hazel had managed to sneak away a letter with Seeker skills, and wrote a reply that night, in the room the Dursleys had given her a few days ago, after they got paranoid about the first letter and her Cupboard address.

It was then that she realised she did not have an owl. When she tried to Summon one, none came, for she was not yet proficient enough to wandlessly Summon a living thing that was very good at flying against the wind.

And that was how Hazel, Marvolo, and the Dursleys ended up in a hut, on a rock, in the middle of the sea, while a huge storm brewed outside. Until a half-giant kicked down the door just a second after Hazel managed to tease out a disgruntled 'Happy Birthday' from a most reluctant snake.

Hagrid was quite pleased and somewhat sheepish when he found out Hazel  _had_  gotten a letter but had no owl to reply with (he then produced a live owl out of his pocket—no doubt courtesy of an Undetectable Expansion charm, or at least, she hoped so—and scribbled a note before sending the owl off with it). Uncle Vernon was not pleased at all, especially after Dudley got a pig's tail when he began eating the cake that Hagrid had brought for Hazel.

The Dursleys protested very heavily against letting Hazel leave for Hogwarts, but they—Hagrid, Hazel and a Disillusioned Marvolo—left on a boat anyway, leaving behind a very alarmed and upset family in the hut upon a rock in the middle of the sea without a boat.

All in all, it was, as Marvolo said, quite a dramatic affair. He muttered something about 'setting wardrobes on fire', which Hazel assumed she was not supposed to understand—that she  _did_  understand was another matter—and wisely did not say anything in reply.

Whatever it was, Hagrid had managed to gain a miniscule droplet of respect from Marvolo for his wonderful response towards the Dursleys in the Hut. Hazel wouldn't be surprised if the snake, liking neither the Gamekeeper nor the Headmaster of Hogwarts, ended up respecting Hagrid more than Dumbledore by the end of their trip to Diagon Alley.

Hagrid, though blindly loyal to Dumbledore, quite careless with secrets and had little brains, was kind, and he cared more for his personal friends than the Greater Good, unless Dumbledore actually gave him a personal order. Hazel remembered him as a typical Hufflepuff with a Gryffindor's sense of self-preservation, very welcoming towards her despite his general dislike of Slytherins, and their friendship had been quite beneficial throughout her Hogwarts years.

Dumbledore, however, had the ideals of a Gryffindor but the actions of a Slytherin. Hazel and Dumbledore had gotten along well enough for a student and a Headmaster preparing for a war against a common enemy—the Dark Lord—but otherwise, they disagreed on many things that they never argued about, because if they knew they would never see eye to eye with each other again if they did, and they could not afford that. Not until Voldemort was defeated for good. And by then, the Headmaster had been dead anyway.

Nonetheless, Hazel had a feeling that things were going to be quite different this time around.

* * *

Halfway through getting fitted for his new school robes, a girl with red hair walked in. Draco's automatic reaction was to identify her as a Weasley, but there were many things wrong with that assumption, which became quite clear to the Malfoy scion a second after the thought flitted through his mind.

The first thing was her hair. It was the wrong shade of red, closer to the colour of fresh blood than the Weasley's fiery hair. And when the door of Madam Malkin's closed behind the girl, her hair, which had previously been lit by the sun, was now the colour of dark wine, shadowed by the interior of the shop.

The second thing was something he should have remembered before anything else. The Weasleys had seven children, of which only two could be of that height at this point in time—the Weasel, best friend of Potter, and the Weaslette, Potter's girlfriend (or so everyone says, no one really knew since they weren't obvious about it though the Weaslette  _had_  been observed to have a crush on Potter during the earlier part of their Hogwarts years). In any case, the girl had her red hair cropped short in messy layers, which he doubted the Weasley Matriarch would have wanted for her daughter's beautifully long and wavy flame-like hair (not that he would ever admit complimenting any member of the Weasley family even if he could sometimes appreciate the ingenious Weasley twins). That and the fact that the Weaslette wouldn't be attending Hogwarts until next year led to the conclusion that she couldn't be Ginevra Weasley. And she couldn't be the Weasel for obvious reasons, unless someone screwed up the timeline before him and the Weasel had ended up female. (He shuddered at that thought and refused to entertain the possibility any further.)

When the girl turned around, as Madam Malkin led her over to stand beside him, he finally got a full view of her face. She had an impish look, a fair heart-shaped face with a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks that didn't look half-bad on her, and bright emerald-green Malfoy had never seen eyes that shade of Killing-Curse-green except on the face of his school rival. He had heard, of course, that Potter had his mother's eyes, but there was once when he asked his mother about it, out of curiosity, because he was pretty sure it wasn't quite possible for anyone to have eyes that were naturally of that colour, much like how the Dark Lord had abnormal red eyes.

Lily Potter, Draco learned, had more normal sea-green eyes, certainly not of the same hue, shade or brilliance as her son. (And he had a theory later on that Potter's eye colour could have been a result of facing the Killing Curse and surviving it.)

"Hello, Hogwarts too?" the girl asked. Her voice was light and lilting, carrying the confidence of a Pureblood Slytherin.

"Yes," Draco replied absently, still trying to identify her and he suddenly had a strange sense of displaced not-quite déjà vu.

"Hagrid—he's Hogwarts's Gamekeeper and was the one who brought me here—is at the Leaky Cauldron getting a drink, but he'll be bringing me around to buy my books and wand later. Think I should get a broom this year? I'd have to smuggle it into Hogwarts of course. It's a pity first years are not allowed to have their own," the girl went on to say when Draco did not say anything else, something which he chastised himself about. Just as he decided to do this right—be attentive, be genial and polite, get to know this strangely foreign yet familiar girl—because he would need all the information he could get, all the connections he could have, to help him change the future, when, right at that moment, a realization hit him.

The reason why he had felt that displaced sense of familiarity was because… in an alternate time, a very important event had occured. One that he had completely forgotten about.

Potter had walked into this very shop and Draco had greeted him with the very same words the girl had used upon meeting him. At that time, Draco had not known who that raven-haired boy with round hideous glasses and emerald green eyes was. Now that he thought about it, he'd acted every inch of a rich and spoiled Pureblood that he had been. The other boy had been rather quiet, and he had done most of the talking. Now it seemed the roles were being reversed, except that this girl with the same green eyes was not behaving like the pampered kid he had been. Mischievous and rebellious, perhaps, but not pampered.

"Have you got your own broom?"

Draco started, feeling even more out of place with the girl playing parts of his role in what seemed like a very odd play.

"Yes, I do, but it's not as fast as I'd like, so I'm hoping to have Father buy me a better one," he replied. Then he looked at her excited smiling face. She was either Muggle-raised and was visiting Diagon Alley for the first time, or a potential Hufflepuff excessively eager to make new friends. "Do you? Have your own broom, that is."

The girl shook her head with a sheepish grin. "Nope. Not one for racing at least. Last time I used a broom, it was to sweep the floor."

(A Muggleborn then, Draco decided, trying to quash his automatic reaction to sneer, knowing that his old way of thinking was pretty much obsolete in light of what he had gone through and now knew. The only thing wrong with Muggleborns was their insufficient knowledge of the Wizarding world and their habit of imposing their Muggle views and culture upon the Wizarding folk in their attempts to tame the foreign culture of the Wizarding world. This much he had forced himself to reason and acknowledge that one time he tried to unravel the mystery of the Granger girl's aptitude with magic despite her being a Muggleborn.

He had then come to the conclusion that the main reason why he disliked Granger was her know-it-all attitude even though she evidently did not understand the Wizarding world as well as she thought she did, and he knew she wasn't trying as hard as she could, for all the studying that she did. Her ridiculous attempts to free house-elves was evidence of this. A house-elf does not need to be freed from its master in the same way a guard dog had no need of liberation from its owner. )

Aloud, Draco said, "I suggest you get a Nimbus 2000 then. It's the newest model and the best yet, so you might want to save up if you're short on gold. That's the one I'm planning to get."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," the girl replied, sounding amused for reasons he did not understand. "I assume you'll be joining the school's Quidditch team in second year?"

Draco nodded, while wondering about how the girl actually sounded like she was magically raised aside from her 'broom used for sweeping' comment. (Muggleborns weren't like that, last he checked. The girl seemed perfectly comfortable with where she was and what she was talking about. She was evidently in her element, not in some awkward transition stage from Muggle to Wizarding culture that nothing could really disguise.)

"Father says it'll be a crime if I'm not picked for my House, and I must say I agree," he said, not being egoistical or anything (because he had a whole five year's worth of Quidditch practice and more, and he knew he was a good flier, so not getting into the Quidditch team despite all that would be utterly humiliating), but was quite glad to remain in control of his 'role' and 'script' again. "Know what House you'll be in yet?"

The girl froze then, speechless for the first time since their conversation started. She tilted her head slightly to one side while she seemed to turn the question over in her head—thinking too hard about a simple question in other words. Still, Draco waited patiently for her repl—

"Hufflepuff," the girl said, nodding slightly as if it was the answer to a long worked-on problem. Draco stared at her, feeling some slight sense of disbelief rising.

"Hufflepuff," he repeated blankly.

The girl grinned, and the wide smile stretched across her face so fast it was alarming. "Yes. Well, it's either that or Slytherin, or Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw."

"You just listed down all the other possible Houses," Draco pointed out slowly. She shrugged, still grinning, unabashed.

"Right. Well,  _I'll_ be in Slytherin, all our family have been." Here, he refrained from adding that he would rather be a Gryffindor than a Hufflepuff—though his father would kill him either ways—but it seemed like the girl knew what had gone through his mind for she chuckled in response. Draco added that to the list of odd things about her because eleven-year-old girls do not chuckle—they giggle.

"You could be an exception," the girl pointed out. "And imagine the school's faces when you get into a different house from what everyone expected!"

Draco eyed her carefully. The way the girl said it made it seemed like she thought the Sorting could be turned into a  _prank_  of all things. "You don't get to choose what House you get Sorted to."

The girl raised an eyebrow (and Draco was slightly impressed, for not many eleven-year-olds could raise an eyebrow perfectly). "Are you sure?"

He thought about it. Most of the time, the Hat Sorted the students quite quickly, sometimes even before it touched the student's head. But there were also times when the Hat took a while… Finally, he said, "You can't choose when the Hat doesn't give you time to voice your opinion."

The girl nodded, as if what he just said was perfectly reasonable, except that not many first-years were supposed to know how the Sorting worked, magically-raised or not, not until they met the Hat. Draco was an exception, as he had been told by his parents who cared naught for the whole tradition of keeping the Sorting process a surprise. And he also had his experience as a time-traveller to confirm it.

"I realise we haven't introduced ourselves," Draco suddenly said, tired of trying to figure out the girl with Potter's eyes. "I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy."

The girl smiled brightly, though she gave no other reaction to hearing his name, which either meant that she had already known who he was (there weren't many wizards with his family's trademark white-blonde hair after all) or she had yet to learn about the Malfoys, and Draco was inclined to believe the latter because there were generally two types of people upon learning he was a Malfoy—the ones who were Dark supporters and treaded carefully but politely around them the way anyone involved in politics would, and the ones who supported the Light and as a rule, regarded the Malfoys with disgust. The girl was neither.

He offered a hand, and the girl shook it readily.

"Hello Draco, I'm Hazel. Hazel Potter."

* * *

The boy reacted the same way as he did when he learnt Lily's name, Marvolo observed. The shock that one got, when the person one believed was a boy for so long was actually a girl the whole time, could not be easily hidden behind a mask. Marvolo had seen it happen to everyone (when the Gamekeeper had proudly revealed to anyone they met that he was escorting the One-Who-Lived), and had experienced it himself.

He learnt that he was not entirely mistaken in believing that the Chosen One was a boy, because that was what the general public seemed to believe as well. Hagrid hadn't seemed surprised, but he assumed the half-giant had been informed by Dumbledore beforehand. If anyone knew the Potter heir was actually a girl, it would be Dumbledore and her parents. And perhaps the Dog, the Wolf and the Rat. Though the Rat has been useless thus far, aside from giving him the address of the Potters ten years ago.

In any case, the rest of the Wizarding world had been taught to believe that they had a Boy-Who-Lived called Harry Potter. No one had any idea how 'he' had turned out to be a 'she'. Not even Lily herself, who had always known herself to be a girl.

It still puzzled Marvolo, however, as he recalled that the Prophesy describing the Chosen One had mentioned male pronouns, unless the Prophesy of this alternate universe was different. Something that the Higher Entities had conveniently failed to inform him about.

(There was no doubt about it: Fate and Chaos were set on shaking things up, especially his life.)

"I had a suspicion, but it's always nice to be right. It's a pleasant surprise to meet you, Hazel," the Malfoy scion said, recovering quickly from his shock and managed to appear friendly and sincere, which Marvel found surprising because he didn't think a Malfoy would be genuinely happy to meet the Chosen One, but from his previous experience with the young Malfoy, the boy hadn't been very good at masking his emotions despite being a Pureblood  _and_  a Slytherin.

Lily flashed him a grin, something she was doing with such frequency that Marvolo wondered if her cheeks ached from smiling so widely so often.

"What did you expect me to be like?" Lily asked eagerly. "I wouldn't normally be so direct, but I hear that everyone's been expecting me to be different so I'm really curious."

The young Malfoy looked like he very much doubted she was anything but direct. (Marvolo would have agreed if he hadn't gotten to know  _this_  Potter for more than two weeks now. Lily was only direct when she chose to be.)

"I think we were all expecting a boy," Malfoy said. "No one really knew how you'd look like, but it was expected that you'd have features from both of your parents." (Here, he paused, and gave Lily a considering look.) "You don't look like James Potter at all."

Lily smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "It seems like I've inherited all my features from my Mum. That's what Hagrid said. But I think I've got some of my Dad's hair genes. My hair's darker than my Mum's and not as… tame."

'Not as tame' was an understatement. Marvolo did not understand how Lily could have hair that was straighter than her mother's but far messier, because wasn't straighter hair supposed to behave better? It had gotten worse after she had chopped her long locks to chin-length. She had assured him that she knew what she was doing, and promptly began using magic to continue trimming her hair until it actually became something that  _didn't_  look like the result of a bird had making a nest in her hair.

**(The oaf is at the window,)**  Marvolo hissed quietly into her ear when he saw the half-giant waving outside, with two ice-cream cones in hand. Lily turned and waved back.

"That's Hagrid. He looks terrifying but he's actually a big softie," she said to Malfoy. "Unfortunately, he's not very good at keeping stuff though."

The boy was looking dubiously at the half-giant. "I've heard of him… But I don't think I've heard anything nice about him yet."

"I haven't heard anything nice about the Malfoys either," Lily replied matter-of-factly. She had asked Hagrid about Wizarding families on their way to Diagon Alley, even though Marvolo had taught her some things before, and neither Hagrid nor Marvolo had praised the Malfoys in any way. Hagrid just said that they were a nasty sort and used to be You-Know-Who's followers, while Marvolo had called them cowards (not that he particularly faulted them for it, as they were merely being the Slytherins that they were… of course that didn't mean he wasn't still displeased with their two-faced actions in the previous war.)

The Malfoy scion stiffened, and the only other reaction he showed was a slight barely noticeable flush. "I didn't mean to say that  _I_  dislike him or find him horrible. I'm sure he could be… an acceptable person to befriend if I got to know him better. I was just stating what I heard."

Lily chuckled. "Precisely. And if you're a representative of the Malfoy family, I'd say you guys are pleasant enough company so far."

Strangely enough, Malfoy stiffened further, and hesitated before saying, "My parents… Well, they  _could_  be pleasant company if they  _want_  to be." (He coughed lightly.) "They're brilliant of course, but they aren't as… friendly towards non-family members. It… depends, I guess."

Marvolo sighed as the girl he was invisibly coiled around began to shake with barely suppressed mirth. It  _was_  somewhat amusing to hear the young Malfoy being this honest about his parents, considering how he had not been aware of this side of the boy before. But he didn't see it as a cause for laughter.

"That's fine," Lily said, grinning from ear to ear. But before Malfoy could say anything else, the shopkeeper interrupted and pronounced her done.

Lily collected her school robes and turned back to the Malfoy scion who was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as he seemed to consider what to say next.

"Well, see you on the train?" she said when Malfoy remained awkwardly silent.

The boy nodded immediately. "Yeah, see you there."

Lily chuckled again and waved goodbye before sweeping out of the door where Hagrid was waiting for her.

* * *

The trip to Flourish and Blotts was mostly uneventful, though Hazel had to sneak some books out because she knew from previous experience that Hagrid wouldn't approve of them. The half-giant only caught sight of one of the extra books she had bought (a black book with golden words—Serpents and Wyrms of Magical Europe—and an image of a green wyvern printed on its cover) but had been more than pleased to see her interested in potentially dangerous magical creatures.

At the Apothecary, Hazel once again managed to buy a few dubious potion ingredients under the half-giant's nose (not a very difficult feat considering how he wasn't exactly the most attentive person). She could almost feel the curiosity and burning questions radiating from the snake coiled around her, though he did not voice them as she could not answer him yet.

Hagrid bought Hazel a snowy owl, just like the last time, and like the last time, she named the owl Hedwig, in honour of her previous Hedwig, whom she missed the company of. In truth, Hazel missed the company of many others. Though Hermione was her best friend and was thankfully with her in this alternate universe, there were others, like the sensible Daphne and sarcastic Blaise, and Luna the dreamer, and Neville who was braver than he himself knew. Not to mention the playful Weasley twins who were really more Slytherin than Gryffindor, and Draco, who was a Voldemort-supporter at first, back when he didn't know better, but he was still not too bad a conversationalist even though Hazel wasn't sure if they were ever really friends, and was even helpful in the end when he realised how wrong he was about the Dark Lord. Which was why Hazel decided she would befriend the boy earlier, get to know him better, and perhaps teach him to think for himself instead of blindly following his parents.

(Though considering what happened in Madam Malkin's shop today, it seems like it would be an easier task than she thought.)

Things got interesting when Hagrid brought Hazel to purchase her wand.

"Good afternoon," came a soft voice, and Hazel, knowing this would happen, merely twitched at the sudden appearance of the wand-maker. (Hagrid jumped in the chair he had sat on and it broke. Hazel had to resist the instinct to automatically repair it with a wave of her hand.)

"Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander," Hazel greeted the strange man with large pale eyes. The wand-maker examined her critically.

"Yes, yes, Hazel Potter. I thought I'd see you soon," he nodded, then smiled an amused smile. "Red suits you better."

Hazel blinked, having expected the wand-maker to make a comment about her eyes. "Red as opposed to?"

Mr Ollivander's smile widened, silvery eyes gleaming knowingly. "Black of course. Red complements your eyes better."

Then he turned around and began rummaging through his stacks of wand boxes. "Your mother had red hair too, but not quite as dark as yours. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. Your father on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it , but it's really the wand that chooses the wizard… Though of course you've already heard all this before. So let's cut the chase short…"

Here, he produced a box and revealed to her a familiar-looking wand. She reached for it gingerly, just as the wand-maker murmured, "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Hazel closed her hand around the wand, and felt a diffused warmth seep through her fingers. She frowned at the strange feeling and waved the wand. One of the wand boxes behind Ollivander shifted from its place, causing the other boxes around it to shift as well. But there was no other movement and she was quite sure that had been the wand movement for the Levitation spell. Swish and flick, was it not? Even Mars seemed surprised.

"No? No, perhaps not," the wand-maker said as he took the wand from her and turned to search for another wand. "Interesting. I thought that might have worked."

Then he gave her another wand, which she barely touched before he removed it quickly and replaced it with a third wand. This went on, and Hazel would have been fondly exasperated with the long process if her mind hadn't been preoccupied with the strange idea that her wand hadn't chosen her again.

"Worry not," Ollivander said, upon seeing the look on her face as he handed her yet another wand. Then he leaned in to whisper, "People change, as they ought to. You don't happen to have the allegiance of another wand at the moment, do you?"

"I don't think so," Hazel muttered back, mildly alarmed, wondering if the Elder Wand counted. If it did, she would have to find a way to destroy it or hand it over to Death. Though the wand was probably with Dumbledore at the moment.

"Yew and unicorn hair. Twelve inches. Give it a wave," the wand-maker prompted, sounding more confident about this one. She waved it in a circle and the damaged chair gave a loud creak but nothing else happened. Ollivander stared at the chair, glanced at his wand boxes, then back at the chair again. He seemed to have a sudden inspiration and began rummaging through his boxes again more excitedly, while muttering, "Of course… I shouldn't be surprised… After all…"

"Try this," he extracted a wand and gave it to her. "One of my experiments, never thought I'd ever sell it. Elder and phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches, quite flexible."

She raised an eyebrow at the dark brown wand, and picked it up. She twirled it and the tip of the wand glowed for a moment, before the light seemed to explode and sputter out. Even as Hazel blinked away the stars in her eyes, she heard Ollivander laughing.

"What is it?" Hagrid asked, his first words since they stepped into the shop. Hazel had almost forgotten he was there.

"It's rather curious," the wand-maker replied blithely and gave Hazel an almost creepy grin. "Very curious. It seems like we have the wrong phoenix feather. But I suppose, for one as favoured by Fate as you are, it isn't surprising."

"Right. So what happens now?" Hazel enquired, wondering just how much the strange wand-maker knew.

"Come over tomorrow morning, Miss Potter" Ollivander said, taking back the wand. "I'll have your wand ready by then."

He then hurried to the back of the room with the wand and disappeared behind a door. It was a clearly a dismissal and Hazel left the shop with a bewildered Hagrid.

**(I swear that wand-maker isn't human sometimes. He either has Seer blood or some centaur amongst his ancestors,)**  Mars hissed quietly. Hazel blinked, and decided not to question how that would work. She already had a hard time with Hagrid's giant ancestry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now. How was it? Feel free to comment or leave a kudo if you like the story and just wanna show your support, if you have any questions, or if you find any mistakes in my writing. Thanks~


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